Cashman: This has you written all over it. You know it, I know it, Dempster knows it. Just admit it. You know what’s up. Who ordered that Code Red on A-Rod?

Headwarmer: ::Laughs, lights cigarette::

Cashman: You think this is funny?

Headwarmer: No, it isn’t. It’s tragic.

Cashman: Do you have an answer to the question?

Headwarmer: Absolutely. My answer is I don’t have the first damn clue. Maybe A-Rod pissed off Dempster when they were both in triple A and Dempster never forgot it. Maybe A-Rod has a thing against Canadians or once spoke ill of Tim Horton’s coffee. Maybe the two of them had a bizarre lover’s spat, possibly involving a goat. I know a lot for a piece of cotton, but I’m afraid I can’t speak intelligently about the pitching habits of Ryan Dempster.

Cashman: Did you order that Code Red?

Headwarmer: You want answers?

Cashman: I think I’m entitled!

Headwarmer: You want answers?!

Cashman: I want the truth!

Headwarmer: You can’t handle the truth! Baldy, we play a game that has rules and those rules need to be guarded by men with balls. Who’s gonna do it? You? The f$%king Steinbrenner brothers? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for A-Rod and curse the Red Sox; you have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that A-Rod’s beaning, while tragic, probably sparked this team better than a million of your “lunch with Bri-Bri” meetings, and that my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, is helping to save this season. You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me watching your back, you need me watching your back. We use words like aura and mystique. We use them as the backbone of a life trying to defend “The Yankee Way.” You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps–naked, with a life-size Thurman Munson doll, might I add–under the blanket of the job security that I provide and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said “thank you, headwarmer” and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest that you pick up a ball and take the mound yourself. Either way, I don’t give a damn what you think you are entitled to.

Cashman: Did you order the Code Red?

Headwarmer: I did the job that I was supposed to.

Cashman: Did you order the Code Red?!!

Headwarmer: YOU’RE GODDAMN RIGHT I DID!!

Cashman: Wow. Well played, then. I’ll have you to thank when we win the AL East.

Headwarmer: Ah. Good to see you’re still smoking crack.

With a H/T, obviously, to Aaron Sorkin and one of the greatest movie speeches ever.